


Blue seats

by Captain_Mercurian



Series: Blue [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Cheating, Hooker!Peter, Imagine whoever you want as Killians wife, M/M, married!killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2405678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Mercurian/pseuds/Captain_Mercurian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Be honest,” he finally said as the silence seemed to choke him, “what do you wan-” Before he could even end his sentence, Peter had grabbed his head forcing him to look at him before capturing his lips in a desperate, rough kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue seats

Killian didn't love her. He really didn't.

It became impossible to ignore it, especially with the boy – Peter – right next him looking at the TV with those beautiful gems framed by long dark lashes.

The urge to look at him ~~to touch him~~ was so strong, he had to bunk off the room leaving behind his wife reading on the couch and Peter watching _Transformers_ on the flat-screen, sitting on the fluffy carpet in front of it.

Throwing on his jacket, he left the house, inhaling deeply and feeling the freezing air tingle in his nostrils. With his shoes leaving footprints on the snow he fled into his car sinking into the blue leather seat and staring at the ice crystals grazing his windshield. Taking the boy with him was probably the worst idea he ever had in his whole life. It's been three days of torture, avoiding him at all costs and bearing this disrupting attraction between them. His wife didn't seem to notice it; she probably wasn't even able to _imagine_ her husband falling for a child, like Peter at least _pretended_ he was. 

That boy was one hell of an actor; it was a shame that he was selling his body in all the wrong ways.

Killian would have never guessed that Peter could be so gentle and innocent, sitting in front of the TV with amazement glittering in his eyes. He looked so young at that moment that Killian felt like a sick and perverted pedophile for loving him the way he undeniably did. But then again, the moment his wife would leave them alone, he would change; look at him with yearning eyes far too old for his pretty, soft-featured face.

He was a coward; he was nowhere near man enough to even stay in the same room as him. His presence was too tempting, the scent of his skin too sweet and his lips were far too soft and inviting; especially since they weren't chapped anymore, let alone blue from the icy wind outside. They were red and full even a little bit glossy whenever he licked them while looking straight at Killian with a challenging expression in his face.

Killian was a weak man almost dancing to the boy's piping, but he always managed to get rid of his intoxicating spell just before letting his guard down, though he had no clue how much longer he was able to resist him. He wished for February to pass by hoping that it will take the winter with it, so he would be able to let the boy go without any feelings of guilt or worry clinging to his foul heart, poisoned by his affection for this hooker.

He startled as the passenger door suddenly opened and the boy peeked inside with a slightly red nose. “Your wife sent me,” he explained, leaning a little bit more inside. “She wanted me to check if you're alright.”

It was a lie; Killian knew it from the moment he had mentioned her. His wife never looked after him like that; she never worried about him when he suddenly left a room or the house for several hours. All she did was punish him with sharp, distrusting gazes afterward until he comforted her with little exchanges of affection that were enough to keep her satisfied. Unsure to why Peter felt the need to lie to him let alone 'check' after him, he finally noticed that the boy didn't wear any jacket.

“Goddamn it, Peter,” he cursed while reaching forward and grasping his thin arm to shove him inside, “close the door, it's fucking freezing and I already put on the heater.” The boy silently obeyed closing the door and then clutching the far too big pullover in an attempt to keep himself warm, despite sitting in a still very cold car. Seeing him in his clothing was wonderful and frightening at the same time. Peter’s lithe, young body was far too small for them; the sleeves would always fall over his tiny hands, the collar would fall off his shoulder; the whole thing looking more like a potato bag on him rather than like a pullover. It was endearing, _intimate_.

Sighing he observed the way his body shuddered due to the coldness and started to remove his own jacket. “Here,” he said, not looking at him while he handed over the piece of clothing awkwardly. It took a while for Peter to take it off his hands, slipping into the jacket and zipping it up. Killian didn't even want to look; he could bear the pullovers and t-shirts and even his fucking briefs but _she_ had bought him this jacket, (Peter would probably _burn_ it if he knew).

Pointing his gaze the other way he stared at the window even though the crystals of ice were blocking his view of the snow blanketed neighborhood. There was a subtle reflect tough smudged against the fog and ice on the pane and in it he could see Peter clutching at the material, undoubtedly smelling at the jacket before he zipped it up completely. Killian had to swallow down his need to smile and kiss him; he had to suppress the warmth that was creeping inside his chest and reviving the butterflies he had tried to poison with his fear and self-hatred.

“Be honest,” he finally said as the silence seemed to choke him, “what do you wan-” Before he could even end his sentence, Peter had grabbed his head forcing him to look at him before capturing his lips in a desperate, rough kiss.

For a whole minute he wasn't capable of moving; he just sat with raised hands as if he wanted to push the lithe body off him but wasn't sure if he should yet. Peter's lips had been just as he expected them to be - soft and warm creating a mesmerizing array of sensations. The sticky, sweet addicting taste of vanilla and honey danced on his tongue like never before, and he felt himself melting into the kiss before he could even think of anything else to do.

Slowly he lifted his hands a little bit more to place them on Peter's face stroking his reddened cheeks up to his big roundish ears. He loved the softness of the boy's washed hair over the greasy mess he used to have. The removal of the dirt and grime revealed bright highlights of blonde and lose curls that wrapped around his fingers as they plowed through the locks; reviving a sense of euphoria he forgot he had ever felt. The sensation was heightened even further as the movement of his hands stirred a scent in the air all too familiar to Killian’s nose; the subtle, shampooey aroma of sand and salt forming an aromatic aura of powdered white beaches and riveting blue ocean water splashing onto the shore.

It truly amazed Killian the amount of bliss a sole kiss could possess; it felt as if the pure elegance of their lips touching, fused an erratic display of sparks and flames searing their mouths together. It was a flood of passion fueled by a distant need and desire acquired over the span of the past few months, heightened within the last three days. The kiss as it lengthened forged new ideas of the strength of resistance where Killian once viewed himself as weak and unable; it proved that he was capable of withholding his lustful urges for the boy, but now as the feral surge of emotions pulsed relentlessly through his blood, the thought of pulling away seemed like suicide in his mind.

It was inevitable that they would have to part though with both their chests heaving for air. He willed his eyes to remain shut as he savored the lingering feel of Peter’s lips and the taste of his sweet, sweet tongue. Warm, soft curls tickled against his bare neck as he felt a heavy head resting on his shoulder, but just enough to bring nothing more than a gentle smile and quiet sigh to his lips as he relished in the intimacy of the moment. If Killian wasn't married and Peter wasn't a hooker this could have been almost considered romantic—kissing in a car while one was wearing the jacket of the other to be sheltered from the icy wind howling outside—but it wasn't; not with Killian's wedding band burning his finger and Peter's broken eyes staring into space.

“Can I ask you something?” Peter whispered, gently grasping the man’s hand with his, stroking the rough skin of his knuckles with the pad of his thumb. Killian nodded while leaning his cheek on the boy's head resisting the temptation of pressing his lips to his scalp. “You said you'd pay me for every night I slept here. That would be eight-hundred dollars by now. You didn't mean it, did you?”

 The moment Peter mentioned the money Killian moved the boy aside turning slightly in his seat to have a better look at him.

Of course they would talk about money—after all that was the only reason why he bothered with him in the first place. Now Killian understood why he followed him into his car and kissed him, why the boy would look at him with faked desire behind those emerald gems. Maybe he hoped to get a raise if he acted like he actually cared for him; talking to him in the privacy of his car to make sure that he got the goddamn money he was after so desperately. The thought made his eyes burn with disappointment and exasperation, a dull ache spinning in his stomach as he stared at the rent-boy who in turn bore his eyes into him with confusion twisted in between the green flecks. The faked innocence on his face made him boil with anger and frustration.

“I did mean it,” he hissed aggressively while clenching his hands into fists, “and now get the fuck out of my car and leave me alone. Otherwise, I'll pay you shit.”

Peter stared at him as if he had just slapped him across the face—hurt and bitter—swallowing hard he reached shakily for the car door but paused before actually touching it, “You don't have to,” he suddenly whispered. “I wanted to tell you that you don't have to. I don't want you to.”

Killian needed a moment to actually _get_ what Peter said, staring at him while the boy pushed the car door open. As the icy cold wind stroked his face he finally _snapped_ . Quickly he closed the door again before Peter could disembark while his whole upper body was hovering over the boy. Green startled eyes stared up to his awaking his desire all over again and Killian just _lost_ it. The kiss was rough, wet and desperate. He needed him to love him; he needed the affection and the desire in his green orbs to be _honest_. His heart ached for it as he tasted the sweetness of Peter's lips and slung his arms around his beautiful body.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered against his now red, pouty lips and let his head sink down onto Peter's shoulder brushing his own lips along the tender skin of his neck. “I'm sorry... It's just—” he paused struggling with all the things he wanted to say but was too afraid to. “I'm scared. I'm fucking scared. I feel like I'm _burning_ whenever you're near—I have no idea how the hell she doesn't _notice_ —how can she not see!?”

“So you're just afraid of her finding out?” Peter asked weaving his lithe fingers through Killian’s dark hair then softly leaning his warm cheek against messy hair strands; his small hands moving to clutch tightly at his wool sweater. It was a small gesture, maybe with no purpose, but to Killian the action appeared almost as if Peter was trying to hold him together in a way; he was thankful for it since he felt like he was about to break into pieces.

All in all he wanted to say, “Yes. Yes, that's the whole deal,” wanted to believe it himself, but he couldn't bear more lies. He already felt like the weight of his secrets and emotional suppression was dashing him to the ground.

 Killian roughly shook his head side to side as he stuttered out:

“I'm afraid of you _destroying_ me.”

The boy's hands stilled, the velvet pads of his fingers still lingering against his cheeks, and it was unbearably quiet for a moment.

“How,” he started with a shaky, almost angered voice, “am I supposed to do that? I'm just a fucking rent-boy?” His anger was suppressed by his obvious confusion, letting his last sentence sound more like a question than like the statement it was probably meant to be. Killian laughed softly with a hint of desperation weaved behind it. He should just shut up now let the silence end this conversation and never talk about it again, but he needed the relief otherwise the weight of his lies would crush him one day.

“That's not true. You're not,” he objected softly not caring about the obvious affection in his voice as he lifted his head up to meet Peter's hopeful gaze; “Not to me.” The confusion in Peter's eyes was obvious, so he wasn't surprised to hear him ask: “Why?”

“Because,” he mumbled stumbling over his own words.

 

“ _I think I'm in love with you.”_

  
_“I don't want you to sleep with me because of money; I want you to do it out of love.”_

 

_“I want to just hold you and kiss you, instead of fuck you and pay you.”_

 

“ _I want you to be my life just like I want to be yours.”_

 

“ _I want to save you, so you can save me.”_

 

“ _I love you.”_

 

~~He said none of that.~~

 

Instead he said: “I like you—sort of. I- I care about you.”

It wasn't what he wanted to say; his words ended up being vague and empty, meaning nothing and everything at once—a sorry excuse for the explanation he owed to the boy. He knew what he should've said, what he was _supposed_ to say. “We should go back in,” Peter finally said while reaching for the car door. His appeared disappointed, his smile coming off as fake and forced as twitched a little. “You're working tomorrow.”

As he got out of the car Killian noticed stains on the fading color of his car seats. The leather was a sad shade of blue, almost a little gray, stained with light spots he forgot to wash off reminding him of the one time he took the boy then and there since he had been unable to wait until they got to the motel.

It felt like years ago.

Killian didn't love her. He really didn't.

Those blue seats were proof of his lack of love towards her just like their red, swollen lips as they returned to the house where _she_ was waiting for them not suspecting a thing.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @ouatCaptainPan for beta-reading this series! :)


End file.
